


hey, that's no way to say goodbye

by northerndownpout



Series: Meet Me at the Register [1]
Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: M/M, Multi, Romance, alcoholic tendencies, louis is rude to everyone but everyone loves him anyway, they all work in a grocery store
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-28 00:56:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6307477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northerndownpout/pseuds/northerndownpout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis hates working in a grocery store, but he hates his coworkers even more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hey, that's no way to say goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> I know absolutely nothing about grocery stores, except for my experience shopping in one, and the extensive knowledge I now have of how cash registers work, which somehow didn't make its way into this story.
> 
> This is more of an introduction, since I haven't been able to stop thinking about what comes next. :)

“Another day, another pain in my ass.”

“Ooh, busy night?” Niall quips from his seat at the break room table.

Louis pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes so he doesn’t have to watch the light above the vending machine flicker incessantly. God damn light. Always giving him a god damn headache.

“Stop coming to work hungover, Tomlinson.” Zayn says coolly, brushing past him on his way to the fridge. “And stop clocking in an hour before you actually get to work.”

“Aw, lighten up,” Niall drawls, “let the poor kid get some caffeine in him first.”

Louis kicks the edge of the vending machine, slapping the glass with his palm only a moment later when nothing happens. “You’re the kid.”

Chuckling, Niall stands and tosses his trash in the bin from where he stands. As the sloppily crumpled ball whooshes into the bag, he whistles, low and steady. The sound only makes Louis’ head throb. “I’ll go cover your register while you work off your nasty temper.”

“No, Niall. Tomlinson, get to work. We’re not paying you to slouch around smelling like last night’s mistakes.”

From the corner of his eye, Louis notices that Zayn doesn’t even have the decency to look up from his phone. His eyelashes casting deep shadows on the edge of his cheekbones are just another dismissal Louis doesn’t want to stomach.

Curling his lip, Louis gives one last kick to the abused machine, apathetic toward the look of distaste on Zayn’s face and discomfort on Niall’s. “Aye, Captain, I’ll get right on that.”

Louis pauses outside the door, combing his fingers through his dirty hair. He’s there just long enough to heart Niall murmur a quiet worry and Zayn coldly respond, “He’ll get over it.”

Louis straightens up, jaw clenched tightly, the muscles on the side of his face flexing even as his limp fringe falls in his eyes. There is no more getting over it. He is over it, thank you very much, and he is just stubborn enough to prove it.

 

Louis’ headache rages on even when it passes.

Because Louis Tomlinson’s headache is his job, and every second spent inside the dull wasteland (a graveyard of old people checking produce prices and toddlers knocking over displays that Louis has to come right behind and clean up again) is a second that he’s throwing his life away. 

He has friends here, sure. Niall is his friend - albeit an annoyingly optimistic one, who doesn’t let him whine when he wants to. Constantly torn between slamming Niall’s head into the cash register or his own, Louis isn’t sure that’s exactly the kind of friendship he wants to have.

Liam could be a friend, if he wasn’t so hung up on rules, and trying to kiss ass for a promotion. What’s a promotion in this hell hole? Definitely not anything Louis is interested in - not anything worth his time. He’ll spend his time here biding his time until he could escape, and then that would be that. No more throwing his life away in a degree he never wanted or shitty bars with average people, no more-

“Can you scan those items any slower?

Zayn stands behind him. Louis can feel his gaze on the back of his neck, lukewarm at best. It used to give him chills.

“Maybe, if you ask nicely.” Louis answers, sugar coated words still dripping with all the bitterness he can muster. Turns out, it’s a lot.

“Christ.” Zayn mutters, pushing him aside to take over. His blank expression is replaced with a charming smile as he continues Louis’ job for him.

It’s almost relieving, honestly, the chance to escape to the back and smoke a few - and he almost makes it, too. 

“Not so fast, Tommo.” Zayn says, his tone empty, but burning Louis just the same, 

“Why don’t you go help the new guy stock shelves?”

“What, the weird one?” Louis scoffs. “I’ll pass.”

Zayn doesn’t even turn around, doesn’t look at him or say anything. He just keeps scanning items, and Louis knows, maybe better than anyone, that a non-response from Zayn is non-negotiable.

 

His name is Harry Styles. He smacks his gum and wears patterned shirts unbuttoned down to his belly button. Once, Liam asked where he was going after work, dressed in a black sheer shirt with roses on the sides, intricate tattoos exposed. Harry said he was going to his mother’s house for dinner.  
It was fifty degrees outside, and Louis just can’t find it in himself trust anyone who is that comfortable with having frozen nipples.

“Ah, come to offer assistance to the lovely and lonely?” Harry drawls, bopping his head to the oldies radio station crackling over the store speakers.

“I don’t know about all that.” Louis sighs, turning cans on the shelves absentmindedly, directing their labels out.

“Ordered, then?”

Louis hums in agreement, nodding. He stops himself before it becomes too similar to Harry’s fondness of the overhead music. It’s all awful. Really.

“Wanna know a secret?”

Louis jumps, startled by Harry’s sudden proximity and breath on his ear. “That you’re a serial killer who’s never brushed his teeth?”

“I love garlic bread,” Harry whispers. “That’s not the secret.”

Louis eyes a can of peas, seriously considers picking it up and beating his own skull in with it. “Tell me, then.”

Harry’s back on the other side of the aisle before Louis can blink.

“I think,” the freaking weirdo says, not trying to keep his voice down at all, “that Zayn just needs to get laid. And offered a few drinks. Not necessarily in that order.”

“Yeah?” Louis snorts, bending over to open a box. He looks between his knees briefly, notices Harry tilting his head like a puppy. A puppy admiring something he’s not allowed to have, like bacon, or a cushy ass. 

“Yeah.” Harry confirms.

Louis stands up straight again. “Are you offering? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, dude, you don’t need my permission.”

Harry grins, and smacks his gum. “Don’t I, bro?”

The track changes, some upbeat ‘70s bop. Harry’s curls bounce as if they’re at a disco themselves. 

“Nope.” Louis says finally. “Go for it.”

“Cool.” Harry says slyly. “I’ll go ask him, then.”

“Great.” Louis responds, his one syllable clipped and firm. He hopes that’s the end of that, and Harry will smack his minty gum all the way down the aisle and out of his vicinity. And that’s what he does.

Louis exhales, and allows himself one small nod to the rhythm of the music.

 

Liam finds him in the back later, crossing muscular arms over his chest. A few times, when a shy, nervous Liam had first started, Louis had caught himself admiring his fitness, but those fantasies ended the moment Liam opened his mouth. 

“You’re not supposed to smoke in here.” Liam says when Louis doesn’t offer him a greeting, followed immediately by, “Hi. How are you?”

Well, no one can say Liam isn’t polite, even when he doesn’t give a shit.

“What does Zayn want?” Louis asks. He stubs out his cigarette on a shelf, just to see the exasperated look on Liam’s face, as if it’ll come straight out of his paycheck or anyone at all’s - as if someone cared.

Liam’s eye twitches. “Zayn doesn’t want anything.”

“Cool. Go away.” Louis says. “I’m on break.”

“Zayn doesn’t want anything from you, is what I mean.” Liam corrects himself easily, as if his words don’t burn Louis’ throat like his own bile had earlier that morning. “But he was asking Niall why Harry asked him…”

“Jeez, Liam, maybe you should stay the fuck out of everyone’s business.” Louis snaps. “Stop being such a nosy bastard.”

Liam frowns, his plump pink lips tilting down. Sure. Like he’s at all offended. They’ll go with that.

Still, against all odds, despite his bitter sorrow, Liam somehow manages to press past his choking hurt. “Zayn asked Niall why Harry asked him if he was still interested in you.”

“Fucking fuck.” Louis murmurs. “Insensitive much?”

“Sorry.” Liam says eagerly. “So, Zayn wants to know if you are interested in him, because why else would Harry want to know? Did you ask him to ask? I promise I won’t tell.”

“Likely.” Louis says dryly.  
“You can trust me!”

Louis rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. What an idiot. What a beautiful, aggravatingly idiotic snitch. “Like Niall did when he had chlamydia?”

“Hey!” Liam frowns again, lowering his voice to hushed whisper. “I just wanted to help. Maybe someone else knew what to do. And I was subtle.”

“The flyers in the break room were real subtle.” Louis tsks. “Why are you acting like the place is bugged, Payne? You’re the only person here that I don’t want to know about my personal life. Well. Actually-”

“I want to know for me.” Liam blurts.

Louis looks at him again, rolling the cigarette stub between his fingers. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t need to, because Liam seats himself on a stack of boxes as if he did anyway.

“He’s so cute, Louis, and so stoic, and serious, God. He’s so hot.” Liam moans.

“Don’t jizz your pants.” Louis says.

“I just want him to like me.” Liam whines, ignoring him.

Louis makes a face. “Why? Benefits of fucking the manager?”

Liam looks appalled. Honestly, Louis feels the same.

“No! No way. I just want to...well, I mean, maybe the fucking...but not the benefits… I mean. What are the benefits?”

Louis stares at him blankly for a solid ten seconds, must be, although he feels as though he could stare at him for hours and not be able to decipher the exact kind of stupid Liam seems to find himself portraying. He knows Liam can’t be, not really, because no one can. 

“I’m going to go back to work now.” Louis says slowly. “And you’re going to never, ever talk to me about this again, alright?”

If Liam doesn’t have to wait for a question, then Louis doesn’t have to wait for an answer.

 

Wash. Rinse. Repeat. The cycle of life is vicious in that way - everything comes back around.

Unfortunately, Harry Styles never learned that lesson - not about life, or gossip, and certainly not about shampoo.

“Hey, asshole.” Louis huffs, hand jammed into his pockets as he walks out the double doors after Harry, their shifts having graciously ended around the same time.

The wind blows cruelly, getting Louis’ hair in his mouth and caught in his eyelashes, and gently blowing Harry’s pirate-inspired maternity blouse as if it were a soft ocean fucking breeze. This guy has got to be an alien.

“Douchebag, hello!” Harry says cheerfully, pausing to wait for him as if he’d forgotten they’d agreed over tea and finger sandwiches to take a nice stroll out to the parking lot together. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Spitting hair out of his mouth, Louis huffs. “Why did you ask him a stupid question like that?”

Harry looks genuinely confused. It only makes Louis long to punch him in the pretty pink mouth all the more. “Who? What? When?”

“Zayn, about me, today,” Louis reminds him, “and if ‘where’ is a follow up question, I’m going to assume by our fine selection of sausages, since that’s all you can seem to think with.”

“Don’t be rude. I think without my sausage all the time.” Harry murmurs, eyes alight.

If Louis looks into his eyes, he might notice the warmth in them, enough to sooth the goosebumps on his forearms, but he doesn’t, so they won’t. “Seriously, man? Dick move.”

“You’ve mentioned.” Harry says. “Want to grab a drink and talk about it some more?”

Louis scoffs. “You’re ridiculous.”

“No, really, you seem to have a lot of pent up rage. Do you like wine?” Harry murmurs, placing his hands on Louis’ shoulders and beginning to rub his biceps as if Louis said he was allowed to.

He shrugs his big, beefy, cow hooves off. “Nevermind. Just stop gossiping about me to our boss. I don’t want to get fired because of some shit you involve me in.”

“I think you do want to get fired.” Harry hums, unbothered. “And you could, easily, if you weren’t so hung up on what everyone thought. You should live a little. So. Wine?”

Louis scoffs again and turns, walking with purpose out into the parking lot, his chin hidden behind his zipped-up jacket. “Fucking hippy.”

He pretends not to notice Harry watching him go, pretends his cheeks are pink from the cold, pretends he only remembered the bottle of unfinished wine in his cabinet because he's had a long day.


End file.
